


Predator or Prey?

by commandercannibal



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3810361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandercannibal/pseuds/commandercannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is into Lexa and decides to tease her to get what she wants, but her "teasing" gets inappropriate quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Predator or Prey?

**Author's Note:**

> I keep drinking vodka and then writing shitty fanfics, so if you enjoy this you have vodka to thank.  
> Also, this was going to be a lot more innocent, but then it got inappropriate fast and it's probably b/c of the vodka.  
> I exhibited a lot of self-control by not naming this Power & Control, which is probably a better title, but I didn't want to name it after a Marina song.  
> Oh, and I'm not really sure what the difference between the Mature and Explicit rating is, so if anyone thinks I should rate this differently just let me know (always tell me if you think I should rate a fic differently)
> 
> Enjoy :)

Maybe it was wrong of her, but the girl was so uptight. Plus, it wasn’t like Clarke wouldn’t be reacting the same exact way if it was Lexa doing the teasing instead. Have you seen her? Have you really seen her? She is all lean muscle and that stoic kind of confidence where you just know she’s full of herself. It’s the kind of thing that turns Clarke on and she wants to show Lexa what else she can be full of. Well, she doesn’t want to show her yet, Clarke wants to have some fun first. And Clarke? Clarke can’t help herself. Well, it’s not that she can’t, it’s that she doesn’t want to. She wants to be in control. And if that means walking around in a towel in front of the woman she wants to fuck right there on the couch and watch turn into a complete and utter mess while begging her not to stop, then so be it. At least she knows she’s getting the reaction she wants. The one where Lexa pretends she’s not so desperately trying to keep her eyes off of Clarke and is instead indeed watching the TV, which is bullshit. Clarke knows Lexa is watching her from the corner of her eye, she can see the red creeping up Lexa’s face and the way she shifts uncomfortably because the view of a still wet Clarke in a towel is too much for her. But really, to Clarke, the fun is only just beginning.

Timing is everything, so Clarke doesn’t care that she’s been stewing in last night’s filth all day. She has to wait for the perfect moment. That five-minute moment before Lexa makes her routine appearance in the dorm after her last class of the day. That’s when she will start her shower, leaving the bathroom door wide open so when Lexa has to walk past, she will look and she see the silhouette of a naked Clarke. A naked, wet Clarke fingering herself. If only she had a camera to capture the flustered and turned on look of an oblivious Lexa. Really Clarke thinks there are only two things that can happen: Lexa turns around and leaves for hours only to come back in the dead of night when she’s sure Clarke is sleeping, or she hurries off to her bedroom to fuck herself senseless at the thought of Clarke in the shower. She finds out there is a third outcome: Lexa shuts the door and makes herself dinner. She doesn’t even say anything about situation, even when Clarke prompts her about it later. Only shrugs it off as something that happens. _Well,_ Clarke thinks, _I know it did something to you._ She can see the way Lexa is fighting back the emotion, trying her best to look at Clarke but not too much, the way her fingers play with themselves, a habit Lexa didn’t have before. Clarke knows Lexa is trying to act unfazed, but she isn’t. 

It’s a week later when Clarke decides to masturbate on the couch. It’s the early morning, the time when Lexa habitually goes for a run. That has to be how she keeps in such stellar form. Clarke thinks about those toned legs leading up her center and the definition of her abs that Clarke once felt when she walked up behind Lexa, running her hand up underneath her shirt. Those slender fingers she uses to twirl a pencil mindlessly as she does homework. Clarke wonders how many she would pump inside her as she kissed the moans from Clarke’s mouth. She’s just imagining the feel of Lexa’s tongue on her clit when hears the door open. Her hand is on her breast and she’s pumping harder, faster. If Lexa’s seen her, she doesn’t know, because her eyes are closed and the thought that Lexa is maybe watching her turns her on even more. But Lexa isn’t. The next moment she hears the door open and close again. Lexa left. Clarke wonders how long she will try to avoid her, but Clarke will be here all day, waiting. 

Lexa doesn’t come home until midnight and Clarke is on the couch like she’s been all day, waiting. Lexa is showered and wearing someone else’s clothes. Clarke almost feels jealous. Then she remembers the woman has a friend in town. Lexa immediately goes into her room and closes the door. She’s too embarrassed to talk, but prideful enough to come home. _That’s alright,_ Clarke will sleep on the couch tonight and when Lexa wakes up she will see Clarke and all she will be able to think of is whatever she saw that morning. 

Turns out, whatever control Lexa has, Clarke has been successfully chiseling away at, because she starts finding excuses, reasons, to be anywhere but near Clarke. And the couch, well, Clarke didn’t expect much of a reaction and it’s a good thing she didn’t set her hopes too high, because all Lexa did was ask if she flipped the cushions over and then did so when told no. But Clarke still isn’t done with her games. She still needs to finish chipping away at any of the power Lexa could have in their potential relationship. She wants Lexa at the point where just the sight of Clarke makes her crumble. And crumble Lexa doesn’t do easily. She’s too self-assured for that. Maybe that’s what Clarke finds so damn hot about her: the confidence, her commanding public presence. And Clarke, Clarke wants to be the one to break that down. Wants to be the one who commands her. The one who makes her drop to her knees and confess that she wants her, that she would do anything for her. That she’s weak because of her. Clarke wants to be the one with the power and the control over her. 

Clarke waits longer before she makes her next move. She wants to wait until Lexa feels settled, like all the uncomfortableness is over and she doesn’t have to worry about seeing Clarke inappropriately anymore. That’s when Clarke brings home another woman and asks Lexa if she wants to join for a threesome. Of course Lexa refuses. Clarke doesn’t even try to be polite about it. Doesn’t drag the woman off to her own room to fuck. Instead she starts fucking the woman in the living room where Lexa is watching TV. At first Lexa tries to pretend she doesn’t notice, like she’s too involved in the show to notice that Clarke is fucking a woman against the wall, but she can’t for long. She moves to her room to let them fuck in peace, but she can still hear them. She can hear all the moans and the panting and Clarke calling the woman by the wrong name. By her name. Lexa thinks _this is all wrong._ She thinks about how it should be her pushed up against the wall. How it should be her getting her brains fucked out by Clarke Griffin. And Lexa can’t help but touch herself at the thought. She should have just left. But she already made her choice. She can’t leave now, or she’ll just look weak, like something about Clarke being sexual, having sex bothers her. 

The next morning the woman is gone and Clarke is sleeping naked on the couch. Lexa eats her cereal like she normally does after her morning run, trying to pretend that the woman who has been featured in all her fantasies over the last month isn’t lying naked on the other side of the room. She reminds herself that Clarke can do what she wants and fuck whomever she wants. It isn’t like Clarke is actively trying to mess with Lexa. After all, if she is, then would she really offer a threesome? Lexa eats her cereal faster. She needs to be out of here before Clarke wakes. 

Lexa is a hard woman to break, but Clarke thinks she has her where she wants her. Thinks about how Lexa is like a wounded animal who thinks it is finally safe from its predator. A wounded animal who has been winding itself down for its predator, so when it’s attacked it can’t do anything but succumb. That’s how Lexa is right now and Clarke has her pressed up against the counter. She’s been telling her about how she knows that Lexa has been thinking all these dirty thoughts about her. How she knows she touched herself while listening to Clarke fuck another woman. How she knows Lexa wants to do nothing more than touch Clarke. And Lexa is breathing heavy, trying her best to put more distance between them, but she can’t move back any farther. And Clarke, Clarke is leaning in slowly, letting her hot breath run itself over Lexa’s skin before she moves back to walk away. Just like a wounded animal begging to be killed, Lexa grabs Clarke’s wrist and looks at her with eyes pleading to be consumed. To be conquered by Clarke. She just looks back at Lexa with eyes waiting, waiting for the moment Lexa breaks and begs, asks for Clarke to slay her. Lexa falls to her knees and Clarke half expects her to say “please” or “I’m weak” but all she does is unbutton Clarke’s pants. 

It’s that moment that Clarke realizes that maybe she rushed things, didn’t take enough time to adequately break Lexa, because Lexa pushes Clarke to the back of the couch even though she herself is on her knees. She shouldn’t have enough power to push Clarke. But maybe that’s what Clarke needs, someone to be her equal rather than her subjugate. Still, Clarke doesn’t like it and she practically rips Lexa’s shirt as she drags her to her feet, Clarke’s jeans having only made it halfway down by then. It’s more like she shoves rather than pushes Lexa into the table and suddenly Clarke doesn’t care so much about control as she does power. She undoes Lexa’s belt and Lexa jumps backwards onto the table and kisses Clarke with so much force that she thinks maybe, maybe this is what a punch to the face feels like. Where stars hide behind closed eyelids and nothing else besides this pain –this pleasure – can be felt. She forgets about Lexa’s belt for a moment and kisses her back, hard, wanting her to see the stars too. She shoves Lexa back on the table and thinks it might have hurt, hopes it hurt. Pants are around ankles by time Lexa props herself up unto her elbows. Clarke looks something like a ferocious animal to her and she wants to be eaten. That’s what Clarke does. She forces Lexa’s underwear down, falling to her ankles, joining her pants. Her tongue is on her cunt before Lexa can even try to kick her jeans and underwear off. And oh god is this better than anything she imagined. Clarke licks and licks, sucking and Lexa has a hand in Clarke’s blonde hair as if having it there is even helping. But Lexa is desperate for some semblance of power, because the way Clarke is sucking at her clit, circling it with her tongue has Lexa thinking that she’s powerless and would do anything Clarke asked. It’s that moment when Clarke thrusts a finger in her and Lexa gasps, her head knocking backwards and her hips moving upwards. They never speak any words, just pant and moan, breathing irregularly as Clarke fucks Lexa on the spot she eats her morning cereal. She tries holding in Clarke’s name as she comes, thinks maybe she even succeeded until she sees the smug look on Clarke’s face and knows she’s powerless. But power has always been fought over and Lexa is ready to fight for it. At least some of it. She wants to hear Clarke say anything that even remotely sounds like her name, scream it, whisper it. At this point Lexa will take what she can get. 

When she finally gets her hand in Clarke’s underwear, she wastes no time, backing Clarke up into the spot she should have been fucking Lexa some nights ago. Lexa reenacts what she imagined happened there. What she imagined Clarke did to her there. And Clarke takes it. Like maybe, just maybe, Lexa was the one in control this whole time. And when she comes it’s a babbling series of “fuck” and “Lex” and Lexa wonders when the prey became the predator. When the predator let itself be devoured by the prey. 

But they aren’t done yet. There’s still the couch. The counter. The beds. The shower. There’s still so many places left to fuck that they battle until the early morning, each relinquishing the power and the control they somehow manage to win until they’re both equals, lying on the hard floor and wrapped in each other’s arms.


End file.
